A Moment of Warmth
by VivaLaCupcake
Summary: America is done with the world. Nothing was getting better and he was tired. He saw no point in even trying, he just wanted to be able to find a small moment of peace, if not longer.


**So I haven't been on this particular account for a while, mainly because my main one is full of ongoing fanfics. I figured I'd use this onew for my more... plotted stories? I suppose would be the best way to word it. Of course my other stories have plots, but they aren't as 'deep?' As the ones I intend to place here.**

**Warnings: Character death, multiple depending on point of view really. America wants to die, so a trigger warning, just to be safe.**

America hung his head low as he and his fellow nations walked away from yet another unsuccessful meeting. It wasn't that America wasn't getting his way, or that someone he didn't agree with was; it was more to do with the fact that no one was getting anything done. They couldn't even pass one resolution paper on education. America could admit to being a player in this, maybe if he'd be more willing to compromise, they could just move on with their lives. He couldn't, the other's demands were unreasonable. Well, in his opinion they were.

America's own government was...well, he didn't know a single word in all of English to describe its current state. He was stressed at home and world meetings. The most beautiful sunset could be presented to him, and he'd turn away, bury his head in his hands and just groan in frustration- being reminded of climate change.

He wasn't the only nation with these problems of course, all around the world, they were getting hit hard. A new problem seemed to appear every hour on the hour, if not sooner.

There was no real decision that could be made to appease all people. All people didn't agree, in fact some people can't even agree that people don't all agree.

Day in and day out America heard people speak of the apocalypse, and he wasn't too religious, but some days, he had to wonder.

If the world is going to end, what's the point? What is the point in all these new technologies and advancements, why save a dying man who is just as doomed as the rest of them? But he is the hero. He has to be, he can't just renounce his title, he must live up to it. Heroes aren't hated though, that is what plays in the back of his mind. If he is truly a hero, why is he hated so much? Why do his people feel the need to claim Canada when they're not home? Maybe his brother was the hero, maybe Canada was meant to save the world with his quiet, unnoticed words. America heard them. His brother was one of the few voices of reason at any meeting really.

War was like a giant elephant in the room nowadays. They knew deep down it was probably unavoidable, but they were tired. They were tired of war, tired of arguing, and tired of their mere existence. America wasn't the only one who felt this way.

England couldn't help but to more drained with every day that went on, there were no warm feelings in life anymore. How could there be when you've been here so long? Spain hadn't smiled in months, not to Romano or anyone else.

In lifetimes of war, there seems not to be any form of peace, no true moment. The good memories are now coated with the blood that soon followed. Old laughs were now tear stained faces with red eyes. America couldn't even bring himself to look at himself in a mirror let alone look a nation in the eyes and say two hundred and hundred years felt like enough.

America wondered if he prayed, could he leave? He didn't know where, but somewhere. Maybe he could sleep for a really long time, that sounds peaceful. He'd actually reached that point in exhaustion. Death sounds...pretty nice now. Like the only peace he's ever known.

There was no way of knowing how to just go away, fade like the others.

When America reached his hotel room in London. He didn't even take off his jacket. He felt so cold.

He just fell on to his bed, wrapped in covers as chilled tears seemed to freeze to his face. His sight was out of focus and blurry. He didn't care. He buried his head into the bed, no sobs or sounds coming from him. He was getting colder by the second and more tired. His toes curled in his shoes and released as he began to slip out of consciousness. In those final moments, those precious last seconds he felt a great warmth, the presence of someone he knew. He could hear a voice say, "let's go home." He held on to the outstretched hand and everything that was anything became an endless void that could be called an eternity of nothingness.


End file.
